


But which do you fear, the night or the stars?

by woodworms_before_breakfast



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Angst, BAMF Morgana (Merlin), Canon Era, Emotional Hurt, One Shot, POV Morgana (Merlin), Post-Episode: s04e02 The Darkest Hour, Redemption, Season 4 (Merlin), also can be read as either Merlin/Morgana or Merlin & Morgana, because Morgana deserves to retain her kind side, even if she's afraid and alone and slightly evil, i say hovel way too many times in this story, inspired by a tumblr post, just a little headcanon, just find it funny, king's ward turned crazy witch in the woods, sad morgana
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-30
Updated: 2020-07-30
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:41:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25615267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/woodworms_before_breakfast/pseuds/woodworms_before_breakfast
Summary: Alternatively: But witch, do you fear the night or the stars?Almost three years since she’d first left Camelot, yet Morgana still had never gotten used to living alone in a hovel. Sometimes she woke up in the middle of the night, and in those moments, she would think back to her life (and her friends) in Camelot...
Relationships: Gwen & Morgana (Merlin), Merlin & Morgana (Merlin), Merlin/Morgana (Merlin)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 23





	But which do you fear, the night or the stars?

The hovel was frightening at night. Gone were the sun rays piercing the jars on the shelves, replaced instead with sinister moonbeams that barely made it past the windows. The shadows that were allies in the day became enemies in the night, creeping ever close to her bed with maniacal smiles in their fingers. The Fomorroh hissed in the corner, no longer a little friend but a little menace.

Morgana pulled her fur blanket closer. Almost three years since she’d first left Camelot, yet she still had never gotten used to living alone in a hovel.

An indignant chitter in the corner reminded her of the fault in that last thought. She wasn’t alone, and she reached her hand out to stroke the dragon’s head, apologizing for the lapse in memory. Aithusa purred, and despite herself, Morgana felt a pang of terror. The low rumble from the White Dragon’s throat was a warm, welcome sound in the daylight — but at _night_ , at night it scattered chills down Morgana’s spine.

Oh Goddess, what was she thinking? She was a High Priestess, wielder of a power greater than any mortal man could imagine. The shadows bore no threat to her. The _darkness_ was her home. The stars—

Morgana gasped as she felt a tear mournfully crawl down her cheek. She could stand it when the sun held the gold of Arthur’s hair. She could take it when the breeze gently caressed her with Gwen’s touch. She felt nothing when the forest trees watched her walk about with all the hard disappointment of Uther’s stare.

But the stars? How could she bear the way the stars sparkled at her with hope, with grief, with love the way Merlin’s eyes used to? But more importantly... _why_ did she care so much for a mere servant?

_He’s more than that. He’s... your friend, and you know it. He was the first to help you when you were terrified of your gifts. He was the one who believed in you more than anyone else in that godforsaken castle._

Morgana thought back to the first attack on Camelot in which she’d played a major role. The alliance Morgause — oh, _Morgause_ — had struck with Cenred, the insanity they’d driven into Uther, the skeleton army. She conjured the image of the vaults, the thrill of using her powers without restraint — the tremor of her heart as she whirled around to find Merlin standing there.

_I beg you_ , he’d said. _I do understand, believe me_ , he’d promised. _We can find another way_.

Another way... was there no other way than to poison her when the Knights of Medhir attacked? Was there no other way than to allow the Witchfinder to torture her with questions when he knew of her secret? Hell, was there no other way than to send her off to the Druids alone when her nightmares turned violent? _Hypocrite_ , she thought viciously. But then... how could she honestly say she'd have done any differently? How could she blame him for acting in fear when... when she understood that fear better than anyone?

She didn’t even realize she’d drifted off to dreams until her own sobs woke her. Half awake, her hair tousled and eyes swollen, she cried out hoarsely:

“Gwen?”

Her fingers flew to her lips as she gazed at her wretched surroundings, horrified that she’d given in to nostalgia and self-pity.

Morgana growled. Aithusa eyed her warily before sulking back into the corner and curling up to sleep. There was silence for a while, so similar yet entirely different from the warm silence that had filled her chambers, all those nights when she’d woken up screaming from her nightmares, the nights when all she had to do was wait a few moments before Gwen came flying into the room and threw her arms around Morgana.

This silence was cold. This silence was dangerous. This silence was everything Morgana strove to be, and yet... and yet the hovel in the night still frightened her.

No matter. She could always face the night the next day. Morgana laid back down and fell asleep under the weeping stars.

**Author's Note:**

> can be read as a romantic view of Merlin/Morgana - Mergana would be pretty BAMF (hit me up if you've read Season 6 Kingdom Come!) but have no doubt, my otp is still Merthur :D


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